


Songs of Hope

by humandronebarnes



Series: Songs of Hope [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Angst, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, F/M, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, This is going to be an angsty ride, Torture, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2019-09-23 04:26:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17073446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humandronebarnes/pseuds/humandronebarnes
Summary: Bucky Barnes has escaped Hydra and tries to rebuild himself in Romania when he befriends a woman who seems to make sense of everything. Bucky soon finds out there’s something dark in her own past that is slowly bleeding through.





	1. That's what friends do

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go, my first try at a series, though I've been writing this story for the last two years. It's finally coming out! I'm very interested in what Bucky might have gone through in his past and how his trauma would affect his life in the present, so I think of this story as a study in trauma or PTSD. Now, the story is definitely going to have some dark undertones but I try to slip some fluff here and there.

_The wet cloth on his face fills his mouth and nostrils with every panicked breath he takes. He chokes and tries to squeeze his eyes to block out the light that pierces the cloth and his eyelids, it's merciless and painful. The Star-Spangled Banner has been blaring from the speakers for what must be days by now. Every time it ends, he hopes it’s for the last time, but then without fail, he hears the familiar tunes again._

_They pour more water on his face. He gargles a cry and pulls against the magnetic straps that bind his arm, legs and torso, but they stay tight and unyielding. Sweat stings on his right ankle where the top layers of his skin have rolled back to expose the nerves underneath, making them send distress signals up to his brain, telling him to remove the stressor and tend the wound. The pounding pulse in his left ankle transmits a similar message._

_Loud laughter fills the room, and someone snatches the cloth off his face. The light blinds him. He cries and pleads for them to return his clothes and allow him at least a few minutes of sleep. Exhaustion and the coldness of the room cause his body to shiver as the men mock his naked form, as they have for the past few hours._

_When the song in the background ends, he starts fading out. Whether it’s sleep or death, he’s fine with it. In all honesty, he wishes the latter. Many times he has been convinced this is it, this is death, yet whatever they pumped in his veins in Italy has kept him alive._

_A slap across his face wakes him up, enough to let him understand what the man above him says in Russian._

_“Co-operate and you’ll have your clothes.”_

_Then the man smacks the wet cloth on his face and pours an entire bucket of ice water on him._

An audience cheered in the TV downstairs and brought Bucky back to reality. He blinked and noticed he’d been staring at the clock on his kitchen wall. Quarter past six. He was late. With a quiet ‘shit’ he scrambled up. Cold sweat coated his skin, and his heart attempted to pound its way through his sternum as he headed towards the door. Liv would be so angry at him. Failing to meet any given schedules was a grave mistake and would be punished accordingly, Bucky had learned that in the past. He stepped in the stairway trying to ignore the spots disturbing his vision and the ringing in his ears.

Liv had baked something. Bucky smelled the sweet scent floating from her apartment as he tried to find the courage to knock on her door. Disappearing again had started to sound like a great idea. Being free from Hydra meant he was finally free to come and go however he liked. He could just leave instead of knocking on the door and accepting the consequences of his carelessness. He should just pack his stuff and go. Letting out a shaky breath Bucky realized the contradiction in his thinking. He closed his eyes and thought it through.

_Liv is a nice person. She doesn't beat people for being late for coffee._

Bucky gave his watch a quick look, and a frustrated groan tried to make its way up his throat. 20 minutes late. Why the fuck was he so scared of a woman who cries when she sees pictures of puppies? Flaking out on her would be even shittier than being late. Bucky cursed quietly as he wiped his sweaty palm on his jeans and, ignoring what experience had taught him, knocked on Liv’s door.

It took a few moments for Liv to get the door but when she finally did, she greeted Bucky with a smile. Sweet relief washed over him. She wasn't angry. Instead, she welcomed Bucky and informed him she'd be making nachos later. Her ash brown hair, that normally reached the middle of her back, was gathered on her head in a floppy bun which made her look a little goofy. She told Bucky she was happy to see him and reminded him to kick off his shoes like she always did. Liv was Norwegian and weird about wearing shoes inside. Despite visiting her once or twice a week for almost two months now, Bucky always forgot. After a few times of him strutting around on Liv's black and white wool rug with his shoes on, Liv had taken on a habit of reminding him of the manners of the house.

"Are you okay? You look distressed," Liv asked as Bucky toed off his shoes and set them in the shoe rack.

Despite Bucky assuring her, he was okay, he was met with a suspicious look on his neighbour's face. Liv was a walking lie detector, but even someone less observant would have been able to spot that weak lie. Bucky's pasty face, glassy eyes and the sheen of sweat on his forehead were a dead giveaway of the anxiety bubbling in his chest.

Following after Liv, Bucky made his way to the kitchen wiping his face in his sleeve. His t-shirt clung to his back which made him reach back awkwardly and try to pull the fabric off his skin. With a sigh, he sat at the table and ran a hand through his hair. His damp scalp made him grimace and wish he had had time for a shower.

"I could lend you a towel if you want to shower," Liv spoke as she turned the kettle on. "A warm shower could help you calm down."

"I'm fine, it was just a memory," Bucky replied wiping his hand on his jeans.

"Well, I know invasive memories, or flashbacks, as they're called, can leave you rattled for an entire day. Taking a warm shower or bath works for me."

"I'd have to put my sweaty clothes back on. Doesn't make much of a difference, does it?" Bucky asked sharply, annoyed that he had to sit there in his sweat-dampened clothes. What annoyed him even further was that he was too proud to accept Liv's offer and so the only one to blame for the state he was in.

"Just offering some help, Bucky. That's what friends do," Liv said calmly.

_Friends?_

Bucky flicked his gaze towards the woman in process of making tea for herself and coffee for him to go with the brownies she had prepared. She was his friend? Did that mean he was her friend as well? Poor her, Bucky thought, ending up with a friend like him, a former assassin with a broken brain. Even he didn't want to be his friend. And the only reason he had agreed to visit Liv for the first time was that she had promised to make food, and he had been living off potato chips and chocolate bars for weeks. He had inhaled three-quarters of a lasagna on his first visit. Liv had decided he needed a proper meal at least once a week. Bucky had agreed. So there he was, having coffee and brownies with his friend.

Liv didn't mind Bucky's history, which to him was surprising, even worrisome. Her recognizing him as the Winter Soldier had been instant when she had spotted a glint of metal under his sleeve. She had told him about the information leak on Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D. and how someone had been able to decrypt some files, including ones with information about the Winter Soldier. She had told him he shouldn't be blamed for whatever happened during his years with Hydra, it wasn't him. Bucky hadn't agreed, and still didn't, but Liv had flooded him with knowledge about prisoners of war and brainwashing, assuring him he was as much of a victim as the people who had died in his hands.

Bucky knew Liv had something dark in her own past as well, but she chose to not talk about it. Moving to Romania was 'her way of handling it like a real non-functioning adult', as she had stated while wiping her teary eyes when Bucky had found her on the balcony smoking a joint to calm herself after what she had called a ‘weak moment’. Asking about her past always resulted in a vague explanation of some bad things happening in Norway and a swift change of subject. Bucky didn’t want to intrude, so he never pestered her with more questions, though the deep, long scars on both of her wrists spoke volumes. Besides, Bucky didn't have the skill of making people talk through small observations, as Liv did.

As functional or non-functional as Liv claimed to be, she could make sense of many things Bucky struggled with. She had helped him when he had episodes where he was sure he was having a heart attack. "Panic attacks," Liv had said, "they're not going to kill you but they sure as hell make you feel like it."

Now Bucky knew how to recognize an oncoming panic attack and use a mindfulness practice to cope with it. At first, he struggled to get his mind in the right place, but recently he had been able to handle almost all his panic attacks, thanks to Liv's advice.

"Do you want milk or cream in your coffee?" Liv asked. "Or do you want it black?"

She knew how he liked his coffee, but this was an exercise at free will. Making choices and decisions had been hard for Bucky after he had fled from Hydra. The awkward stare from a cashier in a random New York bodega, where he froze for a quarter of eternity after being asked whether he wanted a bag for his groceries, will be burned in his mind forever. Liv had noticed his struggles and pointed it out to him. After that, she kept asking him questions and making him choose, even when the answer was obvious.

"I'll drink it black, with two sugars," Bucky replied.

Liv flashed him a smile and dropped two sugar cubes in the coffee. She added a splash of milk in her tea before taking the mugs and bringing them to the table.

"Sugar, huh? That's new," she said.

"Just trying things out," Bucky grinned, grabbing a brownie and noting that his head felt still a little funny.

"That's good, keep doing that."

As Bucky chewed on his brownie, he watched Liv tear apart her own while telling him how trying new things reminded her about some customer of hers. She had a habit of doing that, breaking her food into tiny pieces and then eating a fraction of it. Bucky hated it. It was wasteful and Liv's bony wrists gave away the fact that her diet wasn't optimal either. She needed the calories more than Bucky did.

"Why aren't you eating your brownie? Stop dissecting it and put it in your mouth," Bucky said.

Liv took a small piece of the confection and ate it before going back to crumbling it into even smaller pieces. Bucky sighed reaching for another brownie. Liv must have taken offence to what he said. She was silent as Bucky studied her face while sipping his coffee. Something about her had a sense of familiarity. The way her head seemed a little too big for her skinny body and how she barely reached his shoulder when she stood up straight, reminded him of someone from the past.

"Remember when we talked about your memories? How they tend to escape sometimes?" Liv asked suddenly.

Bucky nodded. He had told Liv about the way his memories, especially the bad ones, had a way of either drowning him like a tidal wave or not being there at all.

"I have something for you."

Liv left the table and went to find something in the living room. She returned with a notebook and a pen which she set on the table in front of Bucky. She sat down leaning her cheek on her hand.

"Maybe you could try writing your memories down when you still remember. It might help you process them, and they would be documented on paper in case you forget," she suggested.

Bucky flipped through the blank pages. Liv had taped a card with what seemed like little writing prompts on the front page. A small smile danced on Bucky's lips when he noticed the golden constellations on the tape. Working in a paper store gave Liv access to a huge stock of decorative tape that she hauled back home and used to stick things on her fridge and front door.

"I wrote down some suggestions for you to write about to jog your memory," Liv explained leaning closer to smooth down a loose piece of tape. "Don't feel obligated to write. I won't be offended if you don't like keeping a journal, but give it a try first."

Bucky closed the notebook hooking the pen to its cover. The leather felt good under his fingers. It must have been expensive. He flashed a quick smile at Liv.

"Thanks, I'll try."


	2. Sleepless nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleepless nights are the worst. Going out for a little breather with a friend might help.

There are two types of sleepless nights. There are ones that are soft and drowsy and filled with creative energy, so much so that they’re dancing on the brink of feeling romantic. Lack of sleep makes your head feel warm. Fuzzy socks, tea and dancing to Funky Town in the living room are the cherry on top. What’s one night of not sleeping? You wouldn’t want to go to bed anyway. You feel too light, too content.

Then, more often than you’d like to admit, there are nights that feel empty and hopeless, nights that make you feel like you’re coming down from a formerly pleasant state of intoxication after finishing a bottle of wine. Despite feeling empty, the night isn’t empty at all, but filled with racing thoughts and cold sweat and clenching teeth. You know every hour of missed sleep makes you feel worse and brings you to the edge of crying. You stare at the clock hoping sleep would come already, but it doesn’t. Instead, your brain goes into overload and force feeds you every failure, every bad choice you’ve made in your life and tells you exactly why you will never become anything in your life.

This night was going to be one of those empty ones. A weird dream about her journal had left Liv unsettled. Unknown anxiety kept her thinking about her dream. How the pages in the middle of the journal had been filled with angry writings by Martin, her ex-fiancé. How she had somehow known they were written by him, although the handwriting didn’t match. When she woke up, Liv couldn’t remember what the entries were about, but a clenching feeling in her heart and throat stuck with her all day and brought up memories of crusty brown velvet, sticky blood and a YSL aftershave, the one that smelled like bergamot, ginger and vetiver. The shattered flashbacks attacked her mind in waves. Every time a flicker of a memory pushed through, her face pulled into a grimace on reflex and a sharp breath ejected her lungs. Grounding didn’t work, neither did Howl’s Moving Castle. She was too far gone. Sleep deprivation started to slowly take its toll and Liv could feel her brain turn into heavy grey mush.  
Liv pushed herself up from the couch and grabbed her mug for a refill of green tea. She would snatch another cup of tea and drink it on the balcony while having a nice, calming smoke. Tingling in her arms and thighs lured her to ease the pressure in her chest in another way. A bad habit she had given up when she met Bucky. She would stay strong and disregard the promises of instant relief her brain was giving her. Giving in would surely lead to complete loss of control. Who would help Bucky if not Liv? How could she help him if her own life was a heaping pile of…

Muffled cries brought Liv back from her thoughts. It was a familiar sound by now, she had woken up to Bucky's crying and screaming almost every night for the last few months. Not that she would sleep well anyway. Whether she preferred being kept up by someone else's nightmares instead of her own, that was a close match. Both resulted in diminished amounts of sleep and brain fog.  
With a sigh, Liv left her mug on the counter and headed to the bedroom to find something warm to wear in the cool stairway. She snatched a hoodie from the floor wrapping herself in it. Something in the back of her head tried to push its way to surface again as she slipped her feet into a pair of wool socks. Sleep deprivation made her brain spit out nasty things, thoughts that floated in her mind as disturbingly casual, yet compulsive suggestions which made her chest feel tight. Half a joint would have helped, but she had something more important to do. With a quiet 'stop it' Liv dismissed the nagging feeling in her head and gave her wrists a quick rub before tiptoeing to the stairway and Bucky's door. The cries had stopped and turned into sobs that carried through the paper-thin door. Bucky was probably up already. Liv rapped her knuckles on the door making it bounce in its frame.

"Bucky? Are you awake?" Liv asked through the door wrapping the hoodie tighter around her body.

The sobbing came to a quick halt and the metallic groan of Bucky's spring mattress echoed in the apartment. A few seconds later the door opened. Bucky stood in the doorway, sweaty and pale, trying to settle his breath. A faint smell of vomit wafted from him before he pinched his lips shut. The apartment behind him was dark, but a small strip of light cast on his bare torso from the stairway. His shirt must have taken a hit when the nightmare-induced anguish had overwhelmed him and caused his stomach to empty its contents. 

Liv studied the man before her. He didn't seem to mind her gaze, so she allowed herself a longer look at his left side. Scars rippled on the shoulder where the metal arm started. They looked red and angry despite being decades old. They must have hurt and probably still did. How Hydra had been able to connect metal with human tissue was beyond unbelievable.  
"You don't have to check on me every time I have a nightmare," Bucky muttered making Liv tear her eyes off his shoulder. 

He rubbed his face and leaned on the door frame. Sure, Liv didn't have to check on him, but she insisted on doing it anyway. She remembered wishing there had been someone to make sure she was okay and maybe offer a cup of tea when she woke up shivering and crying for help until she remembered where she was.

"I don't have to, but I want to."

A long sigh left Bucky's lungs and he cursed under his breath while pushing the forefinger and thumb of his flesh hand in his eyes. The whispered fucks and shits weren't meant for Liv, she knew it, but for his memories that had a habit of resurfacing at the most inconvenient times. Super soldier or not, he needed sleep as well.

"Want to take a little walk? Have some fresh air?" Liv asked.

Bucky pushed himself off the door frame and flashed half a smile, "Give me five minutes, I need a shower."

-

It wasn’t ideal, handling it all by packing up and escaping to another country. In all honesty, Liv knew what she was doing was stupid and insane in its entirety. She should have been in Norway visiting a therapist maybe once or twice a week and taking meds to manage her symptoms, but Liv knew she could handle it alone. Sure, life was a little stale at the moment, but she had made tons of progress on her own. No more self-harm. No more intensive flashbacks and breakdowns. She even had a job. Things were fine, she was doing better than ever.

Bucky’s shower was still running when Liv rummaged through her wardrobe looking for something a little more presentable. A chunky powder pink sweater with a pair of black yoga pants should do it. She’d throw her trusty khaki green anorak over it and she wouldn’t have to bother with a bra. Once she pulled the yoga pants on, Liv cursed to herself. The pants had lost their elasticity, probably in the laundry. They sagged and looked way too big on her. After a quick look in the mirror, Liv groaned and peeled the pants off.

“Need to go shopping again,” she grumbled grabbing a pair of jeans she had been wearing to work for the last three days.

A sharp whine from the waterpipes let Liv know Bucky was done with his shower. Liv shot another look in the mirror. Her hair was messy, and the remnants of mascara that never washed out completely made her look even more tired. Bucky wouldn’t care about the dark circles around her eyes, but to make herself a little more presentable Liv combed her fingers through the lengths of her hair. When did it get so long? After coming to Romania Liv hadn’t bothered with getting her ends trimmed, so they were brittle and tangled. The steaming hot showers she loved to take almost daily didn’t help. Making a mental note to get a pair of hair scissors, Liv headed to the corridor to get ready before Bucky.

-

“Got someplace in mind?” Bucky asked as they stepped in the fresh autumn night. 

“There’s a playground about five minutes from here,” Liv replied.

His damp hair was pulled in a low bun on the back of his head. Liv thought it looked cute. He never did anything to his hair and it was the first time it was anything else than the unkempt, slightly greasy mop that usually hung over his face. Liv got it. Haircare wasn’t a top priority for him and considering the situation he was in, it shouldn’t have been, but it was nice seeing him put some effort in his looks. Liv decided she would note it as another step forward for him.

Bucharest got surprisingly quiet during nights, at least the part they were living in. Liv hated it. Going for walks during the night didn’t feel as safe with barely any people around her. If something happened, no one would be able to help her. Yet she sometimes risked it to enjoy the contrast of streetlights against the dark sky and the quiet hum of cars in the distance. Sometimes someone would drive by or she would run into someone returning home in a drunken haze. Liv would always tense up and squeeze her keys in her fist until they were far enough.

“Would you like to talk about your nightmare? I’m still ready to listen, you know,” Liv said breaking the silence and pulling a joint from her pocket.

Bucky replied by shaking his head. He pushed a loose strand of chocolate hair behind his ear and turned his gaze to the ground. 

"Have you been writing in your journal?" Liv asked from the corner of her mouth as she lit the joint.

Bucky shrugged and slid his hands in his pockets with a sigh, "It's hard, you know. Everything's fragmented and disorganized, so it's kinda difficult to put on paper."

"Why is it difficult?"

"'Cause most of it doesn't make any sense. It's like a puzzle," Bucky explained. "A journal is supposed to make sense, isn't it?"

Liv lifted her brows and shrugged taking her first draft of herbal relief. Maybe she should have described the purpose of a journal a little further in the first place. She thought for a while holding her breath.

"I don't know, it's your journal. It can make as much sense as you want."

Bucky shook his head and chewed the inside of his lip, probably only half-listening. His eyes darted at a passing car. Maybe he too didn’t like going out during the night. Maybe someone had taken him from the street as well.

Liv smoked in silence as they walked. She thought about Bucky and his journal. She wondered what was going through his head. Sure, she knew what he was going through in theory, but being the longest-serving prisoner of war, he was truly exceptional. Liv knew he had been experimented on and brainwashed into becoming a Hydra assassin, and that he had killed a lot of people as the Winter Soldier. 

While he couldn’t hide the fact that he was struggling, he barely ever discussed his experiences and memories in detail. Instead, he’d talk about his symptoms, ask help to manage them and discuss mental health in general. He seemed fascinated by it which made Liv feel a little proud of herself. She loved to share her knowledge with the man who had lived in a time when lobotomies and insulin shock therapy were the talk in the psychiatric field. Still, she itched to discuss Bucky’s past a little more. Mainly because she was sure it would help him come to terms with it easier, but also because she was curious.

They reached the playground faster than Liv had anticipated. Bucky asked for the remaining joint which had maybe two or three hits left, an amount that would surely make no difference in his souped-up brain.

“It feels sorta familiar in my lungs and holding the joint gives my hands something to do,” he had explained when Liv had feigned a shocked look when he had first asked for a hit.

“The infamous Winter Soldier smoking marijuana, outrageous,” Liv had joked passing the joint to him and watching the reaction her little comment would cause. Luckily, Bucky had responded with an amused scoff and a shake of his head.

Bucky stopped to the middle of the playground with the joint sticking from his mouth. Looking around he spread his arms and asked, “Wanna sit somewhere? I think I still remember how to give a good push on the swing if you want to.”

Liv giggled and shook her head walking towards the slide, Bucky following soon on her heels. She climbed up the stairs and sat on the top step. Bucky leaned on the railing taking a long drag from the joint before flicking it away with his left hand. The metal rail clinked when his fingers wrapped around it. It prompted another thought in Liv’s head, something she had thought about before but lacked the courage to ask.

"Can we talk about your arm?" she blurted, the weed was definitely having an effect on her.

"The right one?" Bucky asked lifting his brows.

"I'm happy to see you have a sense of humour," Liv grinned.

A tight smile crossed Bucky's face. He pushed himself off the rail and circled around to sit on the steps with Liv. It was a tight, awkward fit, he clearly hadn’t thought of his broad shoulders when he made the move. Being too proud to abort the mission, he was somehow able to squeeze himself sideways in the small space between the railings.

"What do you wanna know?" Bucky asked huffing as he leaned on his elbow.

Liv weighed her words carefully chewing on her lip. Bucky squirmed under her gaze. Not only was she staring at him, but she was looking down at him. Liv guessed the positioning made him feel vulnerable. She went a few steps down until there was only one step between her and Bucky. Leaning closer she wrapped her arms around her knees.

“What if it breaks?”

“I’m trained to fix the most common problems, but it’s pretty durable.”

“Is it heavy?”

“It is, but I’m used to that.”

Liv thought she had noticed Bucky leaning more to the left. It probably affected the way he walked as well and caused that little strut he had.

"Does it hurt?"

"I'm used to that as well. My back and shoulders ache, and sometimes my left arm hurts kind of like it's being crushed. It’s weird because it’s a metal arm, it’s not supposed to hurt," Bucky described. "I get headaches as well, but it could be something else. Can't blame everything on my arm."

Liv froze for a moment. So Bucky was in constant pain. Would any of the pain medication in her cupboard help relieve his pain? Bucky couldn't get drunk, so he probably needed extra strength meds as well. He said he was used to it, but how much happier would he be if he wasn’t in pain all the time? 

“Did Hydra ever give you anything for the pain?” Liv asked.

Bucky sneered and shook his head.

“Doesn’t sound like anything they’d do, right? My handlers would just wait ‘til I was healed enough to put me back in ice.”

“In ice?”

Liv thought back to the leaked files. None of the decrypted information mentioned anything about putting anyone in ice. Looking at Bucky, he wasn’t too keen on explaining the matter further. But it had slipped already, so he decided to speak, “I was kept in cryostasis between missions.”

“Wait, they actually froze you? Why?” Liv yelped.

Bucky shrugged. With sadness in his eyes, he spoke again, “I’m not sure. Maybe they wanted to keep me alive and fresh. I’m enhanced, not immortal, you know."

Liv was dumbfounded. Not only had Hydra tortured and brainwashed Bucky into killing for them, but after every mission, he was put away like Christmas decorations. It was so wrong, so fucking wrong. Hydra had taken Bucky’s hopes and dreams and crushed them to further their own chaotic cause. He had clearly been a mere asset, nothing to be respected or cared for. It lit a fire in Liv's soul. She had met many abuse victims and hearing the different ways people had taken the right to destroy someone else's lives never failed to make her angry. It made her fight harder to find out the truth in all of its ugliness to bring justice to the victims.

Seeing the way Hydra had destroyed Bucky was so unfair. Realistically, the amount of abuse he had been through would leave him scarred for life and the chance for him to become fully functional again was one in a million. Decades of abuse leaves a mark, operating models and schemas that would be incredibly hard to fix.

“Come on, Liv. You’re supposed to say something wise and make me feel like I’m not as fucked up as I am,” Bucky half-joked nudging Liv’s leg with his metal fingers, bringing her back from her thoughts.

Liv looked at Bucky and smiled gently. She wrapped her fingers around the cold silver-coloured fingers that rested next to her shoes. 

“You’re not fucked up,” Liv said seriously. “You’re a survivor.”

A half-truth to make him feel better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hi hello! I'm sorry this chapter is so late! I just started my training period at uni and for some reason, I've been exhausted and my sleep pattern is... well... what sleep pattern? So I really struggled with writing something that was good enough for me. Hope you liked this chapter and see you next time! I'll try my best to stay on schedule!


	3. Routines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sneak peak into Bucky's daily routines with a touch of paranoia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy moly it took forever to move ahead with this story! Now, this chapter is basically part one of a longer chapter that I’ve been writing. It was reaching 4500 words and I decided it was better to release it in smaller parts.
> 
> I’m so pumped to write this story but at the same time, it’s making me so frustrated! I have a specific image of Bucky in my mind and I’m definitely being too much of a perfectionist when it comes to his characterization.
> 
> I spent four weeks training at a psychiatric outpatient clinic and had an opportunity to work with specialized trauma therapists. I learned tons and got amazing book recommendations on complex trauma, so I have this immense need to pour everything I’ve learned into this fic, into Bucky’s characterization and the way Liv helps him deal with his past.
> 
> So yeah, I hope you liked this chapter and I really, really hope you like the next chapter because I’ve worked really hard and continue to do so. It’s surprisingly hard to write deep trauma when English isn’t your first language!

Routines are good. Routines are important. Routines help keep your head together. Routines keep your kids away from drugs and your dog from chewing shoes.

Bucky had fallen down the rabbit hole of search engines and web articles after Liv had given him a quick lesson on her laptop. Soon he had found he was quite comfortable at using the computers at the nearby library, and what had started out as a curious Google search about nightmares and memory loss, had turned into a pile of articles about the benefits of having routines in one’s life tucked in one of Bucky’s journals with faint scribbles in the margins. Pride had filled his heart when he had presented his articles to Liv and ignited a long conversation on the subject. Liv had been pleased with his notions, praising him for doing research and encouraging him to utilize the information he had gathered. 

It turned out Bucky was very good at routines. He figured it was a remnant of his time in the military. He’d wake up at 6 am for an hour-long morning run. Fresh air would calm his restless legs and mind enough for a quick shower and coffee. 

According to Google, and Liv, caffeine could be linked to panic attacks but considering he couldn’t get drunk or high, Bucky supposed caffeine wouldn’t affect him either. Besides, he liked the taste. So he’d drink an entire pot of black coffee in one sitting while solving some sudoku, another find from the wonderful world of internet, to work his brain.

Liv was a creature of habit as well, Bucky had noticed. She started her day around eight whether she had slept or not. Bucky could hear her shuffling around in her apartment humming or singing to herself while making her morning tea and writing her little to-do lists for the day. Although she never sang in his company, thin walls combined to Bucky’s heightened sense of hearing allowed him to hear her clear as day. They were all songs that she liked to play in the kitchen when she was cooking, and obviously, Bucky had never heard of the artists before. The Beatles, Florence + The Machine, The Smiths… The list was long, but the songs had similar themes of healing, love, hope and hopelessness. While listening to the original artists never really did anything to Bucky, Liv’s rendition of The Beatles’ Blackbird in her husky morning voice made him almost believe the lyrics.

On weekends Liv would invite Bucky in for a slow breakfast. Lately, Bucky had been trying to make an effort by making scrambled eggs and bacon. Liv would make her delicious spiced peach oatmeal like she always did. They’d eat and talk, sometimes they’d just eat. Long pauses and silence no longer caused Bucky to shovel down his food and feverishly think of things to say until he got snappy and sarcastic. They could sit in peace and eat and then do whatever they liked, together or separately. Bucky liked that, it felt natural and comforting. He liked not being alone with his thoughts.

On weekdays Liv got ready in half an hour and left for work. Most mornings, Bucky would join in and walk with her. They’d wish each other a nice day at the paper shop before Liv headed in. Bucky would make a trip across the street to a small grocery shop for some fresh bread and fruit for breakfast, and some oats, chocolate bars and chips for later. Easy calories, he thought. Cheap calories. An enhanced metabolism requires lots of energy to function, yet Bucky lacked the money, and the motivation, to eat a balanced diet. 

He’d then stop by at the library to borrow and return a few books and to use the computers to get his update on the daily news. Occasionally there would be articles on the Avengers. Bucky would print them out and slip them between his journal for later reading.

Being alone and bored left room for scary thoughts, so Bucky tried to keep himself busy. Bucharest was a beautiful city and Liv had shared many of its hidden gems offering to accompany Bucky if he ever wanted to visit them. However, as a wanted man, meandering around the city in broad daylight wasn’t something he could or even desired to do, so inside activities had to do. 

At the apartment, he’d read his books and articles and write some thoughts down while eating breakfast. He’d do a simple workout before sitting down to fill out a few more sudokus. Then he’d make some more coffee and write in his journal until it was time for lunch. The fat and sugar from chocolate and chips gave him the much-needed spike of energy to read some more, do another workout, then clean his apartment before Liv would come home. She'd make dinner for both of them. Bucky would have another distraction until he had to go back to his own apartment. 

Over the weeks and months they had known each other, he had found himself finding any reason to stay a little longer. He'd ask for advice with computers even though he could use one just fine. He'd offer to do the dishes or ask for a movie suggestion. The latter usually bought him two or three hours more as Liv always insisted they should watch the movie together. Anything to not be alone. Anything to stay away from an apartment that was filled with nightmares, flashbacks and restlessness. Liv was his anything that he desperately clung to. Besides, Bucky was pretty sure she ate a little more when he was around.  
-  
Bucky was good at routines until he wasn’t.

So far, even his nightmares had followed a routine. Bucky would get a couple of hours of light sleep before waking up to a nightmare between two and four in the morning. He’d get up to tell Liv at the door he was okay. Then he’d go and splash some cold water on his face, maybe clean up if he had made a mess, and go back to bed. He'd fall asleep quickly and wake up at six for his morning run. It wasn't ideal, but he was used to it. It was better than he had had for decades.

Then, one night, he couldn’t sleep. Suddenly, his apartment wasn’t safe. Something had changed. The air was thick and heavy. The walls felt thinner and Bucky dreaded making even the smallest sound in case someone was listening. He sat in his bed shivering and clutching his gun that had been tucked behind his fridge. He had to keep it ready. HYDRA would come for him any moment he was sure of that. They’d find him and take him away, beat him for running away and then wipe him to put him back in cryo. He didn't want to, but he would kill any HYDRA agent trying to take away his freedom. His freedom which had been tainted by the fear of becoming imprisoned again.

No one came that night. Or the following night. Or three nights later. Bucky covered his windows with newspaper to prevent anyone from seeing inside and stuffed a backpack filled with some money along with some small explosives and other supplies under the floorboards in case he had to run away. He went out and hoarded chocolate and chips so he could hide inside. He sat in his apartment and listened to the sounds coming from outside and the thoughts going around and around and around in his head. His memories mixed with reality, the confused state triggering him even more. It reminded him of being out of cryo for longer periods of time when the Winter Soldier started fading and Bucky Barnes slowly bled through. He’d be in an odd state of sort of remembering, like when you wake up from a dream so realistic that you spend the rest of the day feeling weird and wondering whether it actually happened.

Hours disappeared a few at a time. He'd blink and find himself hours ahead as if the setting sun put him in a trance. One night, Bucky went to bed and found himself sitting on the balcony with his gun, breathing in crisp October air and watching morning mist hang over the sleepy streets of Bucharest. Swearing under his breath he scrambled back inside digging his brain for a recollection of what he had done over the night. The exhaustion ringing in his ears suggested he hadn’t been sleeping. He checked his magazine and ammo stash, relieved when he found no bullets missing. Slowly it came back to him – he had gone to bed and fallen in his memories again and gotten so terrified that he grabbed his gun and went outside to get some fresh air. How he managed to lose five hours doing that, it was a mystery. 

He decided it was better to store the gun under the floorboards. Just in case.


	4. Much ado about nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little glimpse at Liv as she tries to decide whether she should worry about Bucky or not.

_The water is not hot enough. It’s warm, but it needs to be almost scalding. Shivers run down her spine as she sits on the shower chair in a medically induced stupor. She has asked the nurse washing her back for warmer water but can’t remember why she hasn’t followed her request. Her head feels weird and heavy when it dips, making her chin hit her sternum. It hurts. Sitting, breathing, the water hitting her back and streaming down her legs, all of it hurts. Different parts of her body ache, pound, burn and sting all at the same time._

_Water drips from the tip of her nose and top lip when she looks at her hands that rest on her lap wrapped in blue plastic bags and sealed with tape, probably to keep them from getting wet. The left one has an orange-capped cannula sticking from it. She digs her brain to find a memory of it being inserted but her right hand pulses with pain and interrupts her. Through the thin blue plastic, she sees it’s splinted. Both of her arms are riddled with bruises and cuts._

_With a slow blink, she moves her gaze to her legs that are black and blue as well. Then she sees her feet that are swollen, red and covered in large blisters. Her heart lurches. She’s never seen anything like that. What the hell is going on?_

_“What happened?” she slurs through the water dripping from her lips._

_Either the nurse doesn’t hear her or refuses to answer so she doesn’t bother asking again. Her head is too filled with meds and weird grey mush to form any more words than necessary. Idle thoughts of current date and time slip through her brain, but she doesn’t even try to catch them. She just stares at her hands and wonders whether her torso is as mangled as the rest of her body. What could have broken her body so thoroughly?_

_Something flashes in her head and makes her wince._

_With a shiver and a groan, she lifts her head and speaks to the nurse again, “Turn up the heat, I’m freezing.”_

The metallic rattle of foil breaking was almost deafening in the quiet back room of a small paper shop, yet in Liv’s ears, it sounded distant and dull. Behind boxes filled with notebooks, colourful tape and posters she steadied her shaking hands and tossed a pill in her mouth washing it down with a long gulp of water. She rubbed the aching fingers on her right hand. The last three digits had been particularly stiff for a couple of days. She was used to it, not having any function on her ring finger and little finger. Her right middle finger was a little clumsy as well, but it still worked well enough. What a good thing she was left-handed.

But the pain was a problem. It had been occasional and manageable before but over the last few months, it had gotten more frequent and harder to curb. Painkillers rarely worked and sometimes her fingers felt like they were broken. A dull ache would shoot up her fingers and forearm making her grimace. All she could do was to breathe into the pain and push herself through her workday. Then she’d go home, smoke and take a long nap with a heating pad strapped to her hand. Visiting a doctor wasn’t really a choice considering her less than legal status in Romania.

Having a maximum of three hours of sleep every night didn’t really help with the pain. It only made it harder to shake and forced Liv to take naps during the day because at this point it seemed like one of the few times she couldn’t feel any pain was when she was asleep.

She couldn’t sleep because she was worried about Bucky. When he had first missed their morning walk, she had figured he just needed some sleep. Then he hadn’t shown up to dinner making Liv wonder if she had said something wrong. Reluctantly, she had shrugged it off and taken a long bath instead of cooking.

But now it had been days since the last time she had seen him. The logical part of her told her not to worry. They had been together daily for the past few weeks and Bucky probably just needed some space for himself. Considering how quickly they had gone from perfect strangers to spending hours together on a daily basis, it was only normal for him to step back and spend some time alone.

Liv told herself she just missed Bucky and tried to justify her need to spend time with him with misplaced worry. It wasn’t entirely false; she really did miss him. He was rough around the edges, no doubt about it, but Liv understood where it was coming from. His experiences with HYDRA affected the way he viewed his surrounding world and communicated with it. Liv tolerated his temper knowing that, whether he realized it or not, it was his way of telling he was out of his comfort zone or feeling unsafe. After all, he was a genuinely sweet guy with a great sense of humour and as they had come to know each other a little better, his sweet side was present most of the time.

However, Liv’s worry felt anything but misplaced. A relentless feeling of dread had made a home in Liv’s heart making it hard to listen to the sound of logic. She had tried to find evidence to support her suspicion.

One day Liv had seen Bucky hurrying home with four plastic bags full of what she had assumed as potato chips and chocolate. The way his baseball cap had been pulled deep over his eyes and his shoulders had been raised almost up to his ears, he had seemed scared and nervous. Liv had tried to call his name to catch his attention only to get no reaction at all. Bucky had kept his pace, striding forward as fast as he could without looking like he was running away. For a short while, Liv had considered running after him but had soon realized it probably wasn’t a great idea chasing after and calling out the name of a wanted man, especially one with such an unusual name. The last thing she wished was unwanted attention around either one of them.

That night she had heard him arranging his furniture in his apartment. Aside from that, she hadn’t heard a peep from him. She wanted to believe it was because he was sleeping well, free from nightmares. Something in the back of her head told the nights were calm because Bucky wasn’t sleeping at all. Whatever it was, she needed to make sure he was okay and lift the uneasy feeling from her chest.

A ring at the shop door let Liv know there was a customer to be served. With a sigh, Liv pushed herself up and pulled a friendly smile on her face. Just three more hours and she’d be home. Three more hours and she’d see Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little chapter I threw in last minute. I thought it was important to include Liv's perspective while Bucky's locked up in his apartment. We also get another flashback in this chapter! Anyways, hope you enjoyed this teeny tiny chapter. The next chapter is going to be longer, I promise!


	5. Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky learns that complex trauma can affect emotional regulation and make a person lash out to people they care about.

_Cold, gritty texture hits his forehead, and he wakes up in a panic. The smell of rust and old blood hangs in the thick air and fills his nostrils, making him retch. His heavy breaths echo bluntly in the dark as he feels around the walls surrounding him as much as he can. It’s a tight space – no room to stand or stretch his arms. He’s stuck in a fetal position._

_Is it a coffin? Did someone bury him alive?_

_The thought several feet of dirt over his head makes him pant in terror, but he understands panicking won’t help. He holds his breath to calm down and knocks on the wall lightly. A metallic echo gives him a hint of the surroundings and the size of the coffin. He’s not underground but probably stuffed in an oil drum._

_Relief is short-lived when the adrenaline wears out. Now he is painfully aware of the cuts on his back and the bottoms of his feet. The pain makes him groan and shift, which only amplifies the burn and shoots it all around his body. He must have been in the drum, in the same awkward position for hours. It’s evident in the dull ache in his joints, bones and muscles. His left arm is numb, and a tearing pain going around his head to his left eye is just a cherry on top of everything._

_He tries to squeeze out a memory of how he ended up in the drum, but his head is empty, weirdly so. He fights to catch any passing thought until a name pops in his head._

_Steve? Fucking hell, Steve. Did that skinny bastard get in a fight with the wrong people and get them in this situation?_

_His breath hitches when another thought hits him._

_What if Steve is somewhere stuffed in an oil drum as well? What if Steve is dead?_

_Before he can spiral any further, a series of bangs batter the sides of the drum. The sound is deafening, like sitting inside a church bell, and brings back the initial claustrophobic terror with a slam. He screams and tries to lift his hands to his ears, but the cramped space doesn’t allow it. Every bang fills up the drum, and the vibration reaches all the way to the marrow of his bones. His back and feet pulsate with pain._

_Then the banging stops and somewhere behind the fading ringing someone laughs and speaks:_

_“Have you learned your lesson on running away, soldat?”_

Loud, frantic knocks caught Bucky’s attention. His head snapped towards the door. From instinct, silver fingers reached to the floor next to the bed. Bucky held his breath as he picked up his knife and stood up. Near soundless, light and swift steps moved 260 pounds of flesh, bones and metal to the door. Bucky ignored the blood rushing in his ears and listened as someone shifted behind the door.

A frustrated sigh and another shift. Then a louder set of knocks made the door jump in its frame.

Bucky listened carefully while his eyes darted at the windows. Not a soul outside, but they could be hiding. Only one person behind his door, but they could be a decoy to pull him out. He could hear their breath as they leaned against the door, probably to press their ear against it and pick up on any indications of him being inside the apartment.

Pitch black pictures from the oil drum flashed in Bucky’s mind as he tried to think and come up with a plan. Every coherent thought slithered away to be replaced by a memory from the oil drum. He had been a bad soldier. He had disobeyed, and his punishment was on the way. Light whipping and a steel barrel would be a breeze compared to what was coming. HYDRA would break him worse than before, and make him beg for death until they’d sedate him and throw him back in cryo.

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and mouthed a silent ‘fuck’.

Then, he moved. With a hard tug, he opened the door making the person behind it fall into his arms. An involuntary yelp left their lungs when Bucky threw them against the wall with a heavy slam, his knife against their neck.

“What do you want?” he spat in blind fear-fuelled anger as he kicked the door closed while his metal arm pressed the stranger firmly in place.

Panicked breaths echoed in the cramped corridor. Illuminated by dim light and fixed to Bucky’s face, a familiar set of hazel eyes – round, wet and frightened. Small, cold fingers wrapped around his wrists and sock-covered feet slipped to find support against the baseboard, to find a way to make some distance between sharp metal and skin.

“It’s me, it’s me,” she spoke in harsh pants. “It’s Liv. I just wanted to see if you’re okay.”

It’s Liv. Of course, it’s Liv.

Bucky’s stomach turned, and a grimace twisted his lips. He wanted to slap, no, stab himself for being so stupid and hysteric. As if HYDRA would be inclined to knock politely before dragging him back to cryo. His shitty fried brain should’ve realised that.

Liv cursed under her breath and shoved Bucky’s hands away when he let her go gently with a mumbled apology. As a weak attempt to steady her shaky knees, she leaned back on the wall but ended up sliding to the floor. Letting out a long shaky breath, Liv rubbed her neck and checked her fingers for blood which, to Bucky’s relief, were clean.

The thought of jamming his knife in his stomach still lingered as Bucky watched Liv collect herself by burying her face in her trembling hands and mutter what could only be a litany of Norwegian curse words. When she wiped her eyes and quietly assured herself that she was okay, Bucky turned his gaze away and swallowed hard to stop his heart from crawling up his throat.

It was after a small eternity when Liv let her hands fall to her lap and shot a glare up at Bucky.

“What the hell is going on?”

Her furrowed brows and sharp voice were something Bucky had only witnessed when she talked about world politics, global warming or people who believed in healing crystals and essential oils. It was never directed at him. Liv was never angry or annoyed at him – or at least she never showed it.

On second thought, I-hate-healing-crystals-angry was less than an understated reaction to almost having one’s throat sliced. Whatever that said about Liv, Bucky wasn’t sure.

Liv pushed herself up, and before Bucky could come up with an answer to her original question, she hit him with another, sounding now more worried than irked.

“Where the hell have you been for the past few days?”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said again and lifted his gaze to Liv who crossed her arms, still a slight tremble in her hands.

She had showered. Her damp hair rested on her shoulders and left wet spots on her grey t-shirt. The smell of her juniper and rosemary shampoo was the first thing in days that anchored Bucky firmly to the present moment. It made him tear up, and all he wanted to do was to cry from relief. 

He had been so alone and helpless, stuck in his memories and eaten alive by them. Bucky swallowed hard again, this time to stifle a sob that nearly slipped from his mouth.

Suddenly the large combat knife he was gripping was out of place, a painful reminder of his overreaction. Clearing his throat, he hid the knife behind his back, leaned on the door and wiped his face on his sleeve.

“Why are you here?” he asked, a horrible attempt at avoiding Liv’s questions.

By now, the hard look on Liv’s face was gone and replaced with something more familiar. Brows lifted and brought together she studied him looking for clues, anything nonverbal that she could utilise and get her answer despite Bucky not uttering a word.

Bucky never knew how to feel about it. He wanted to shrink and disappear under Liv’s gaze. Sometimes he hated the way she could crack him like a code. At the same time, he was happy someone looked at him with something else than fear or disgust. He was happy someone saw and gave a name to whatever he was going through.

He needed that look. He had needed it for days. He had needed it, but Liv hadn’t seen it.

“I was worried about you,” she said.

Something moved inside Bucky - a switch that turned the moment Liv spoke those words. Only one thought flashed in Bucky’s mind when he blinked the tears away and chewed his tongue.

_Liar._

“I needed to see you’re okay,” Liv spoke. “It’s been almost a week since I last saw you.”

_A fucking liar._

Bucky straightened his back and let his arms fall to his sides. He towered over Liv, gripping his knife, which made her take a small step back. Her reaction ignited something in Bucky’s head.

“I’m fine,” Bucky said and pushed past Liv bumping into her on purpose, seeking another reaction.

Liv quirked an eyebrow and turned around. With her shoulder leaned against the wall, she watched Bucky sheath his knife, and throw it on the bed.

Bucky glanced at the woman standing at the door. She looked ridiculous in her rainbow-coloured wool socks and black college pants that were at least three sizes too big to her.

“I see, you don’t want to talk about it right now,” she hummed and unfurled her arms.

Liv slipped her hands in her pant pockets and taking a few careful steps she studied the apartment. It was the first time she got a good look at it. Knowing that Bucky wasn’t comfortable with letting anyone in his apartment, she had never stepped in before. Usually, Bucky cracked the door just enough for him to slip out. Now Liv stood in the middle of his hideaway doing a lousy job at hiding her curiosity as she looked around.

Bucky didn’t care. He wanted to fight. Either he would witness the break of Liv’s near-endless patience or make sure she knew what a sorry excuse of a friend she had been.

He caught Liv staring at his bed that was a spring mattress with a sleeping bag and a pillow in desperate need of washing. Liv noticed Bucky’s gaze and quickly turned her eyes to her hands. He grabbed a hoodie from the small couch he had carried up a few weeks ago. It was missing a back cushion, but it served its purpose. It was his.

“Done snooping?” Bucky snapped.

His harsh tone surprised him. He was lashing out, acting dramatic for no reason.

Liv, as usual, didn’t seem bothered by his words. She dawdled towards the door, still looking around. Her eyes stopped on the newspapers on the windows and patchy wallpaper. She flashed a small smile at Bucky when he walked past her in a few long strides and opened the door.

He wanted her out.

“I have a spare floor lamp in case you need some more light in your apartment,” Liv said, stepping over the threshold to the stairway.

“I don’t,” Bucky mumbled and closed the door.

 

About an hour later, Bucky found himself sitting in Liv’s kitchen after she had lured him out with a promise of fresh croissants and coffee. From his usual spot in the corner chair, he could see the entire kitchen and the front door where Liv was picking a new pair of wool socks from a basket next to the door. The rainbow pair had water spilt on them when Liv was filling the water kettle.

It was one of the many things Bucky had learned. Liv was obsessed with wool socks. Whether it was cold or warm, she wore them. She was always knitting a pair, and the basket by the door was full of socks in different colours and patterns. Now she pulled on a pair with pink, yellow and white stripes and sauntered into the kitchen.

“Ah, my kitchen looks complete with you brooding in the corner,” Liv grinned grabbing some paper towels to dry the floor.

Bucky pursed his lips and shook his head. He wasn’t entirely recovered from her visit and the way she acted like the past few days hadn’t happened at all didn’t help. He watched her dry the floor and then prepare tea while she questioned him about the last few days, how he had been, what he had been doing, and whether he had been sleeping better. Her voice had a light, relaxed tone as if she was just making small talk, and she smiled at him when she talked. Bucky wondered whether her lightened demeanour stemmed from the fact that she hadn’t been forced up every night by his cries and screams.

And again, someone flipped a switch in his head.

“You don’t have to act like you give a shit, you know.”

A confused glance from Liv poked at Bucky’s heart, so he turned his gaze to a little scrape on the table. Chewing the inside of his lip, he studied the mark and tried his best to look like he wasn’t interested at all in Liv’s reaction. From the corner of his eye, he could see Liv turn around. She folded her arms, hugging them close to her chest and leaned back against the counter with her ankles crossed.

“Why do you feel like I don’t give a shit?”

_Why would she?_

Bucky clicked his tongue and shot a barbed look at Liv. Another sting of spite towards her. Another kick at the hornet’s nest — another attempt at getting a reaction.

“I don’t have to explain you anything,” he said, turning his gaze back to the table.

He noticed more scuff marks and scrapes on the table and tried to rub them with his right forefinger.

“Of course not,” Liv answered and unravelled her limbs to toss some croissants on a plate and bring them to the table, “but I got to admit it makes me a little confused. Besides, you’ve been pretty snappy since I came to check up on you.”

Bucky glanced at the pastries and watched Liv sit down before continuing his task.

Liv leaned her elbows on the table, her chin propped on her left hand and looked at Bucky, waiting. Her patience was damn near infuriating. It made Bucky wonder whether she had always been as long-suffering or was her stoicism a side product of her former profession.

The table shook and rattled when Bucky rubbed at the scuffs harder, only to find that the marks stayed. It was his arm – his metal arm was scratching the table. Bucky pulled the sleeves of his hoodie down to his wrists and wiped the table with his right arm as if it would make a difference. The marks were still there, and Liv still waited for him to speak.

The taste of blood crept in Bucky’s mouth as he kept nipping at the inside of his lip. He felt the rough, tender surface with his tongue. Liv’s gaze burned on his face until he finally opened his mouth to speak.

“You should have checked on me earlier,” he mumbled.

It took a moment for Liv to answer. With her gaze turned somewhere to her left, she constructed her answer, choosing every word carefully as she always did when Bucky was snappy and anxious. She didn’t want to upset him any further. The way she considered her words with underlined care was ironic since she had told Bucky she wanted to be his friend, not a therapist. Sometimes it felt like she was treating him like a delicate piece of glass, with silk gloves afraid to leave any marks, which to Bucky felt like something a therapist would do.

Bucky watched Liv as she took a croissant and started tearing it apart, slowly peeling it layer by layer. When she looked down all quiet and serious, she reminded Bucky of that skinny little kid in Brooklyn. There was something similar in the way they pondered for a while and then, more often than not, opened their mouths to say something stupidly wise.

“I was worried, but I figured you needed some space,” she finally said. “Did something happen?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Bucky muttered under his breath wiping the table frantically until Liv told him to leave the marks alone. He flashed an annoyed look at Liv. “Been feeling like shit for the past few days. In fact, I still do.”

“Do you want to elaborate? Feeling like shit can mean a variety of things,” Liv said.

Bucky shrugged fumbling with his fingers, chewing his lip. He recalled the last few days, the insanity of it and how he had scared even himself. What he had experienced was different, a whole new level of crazy to his selection of issues. Afraid of Liv’s reaction, he had never discussed the content of his flashbacks or traumatic memories, only the fact that they occurred and resulted in anxiety and panic attacks. Now that things had spiralled out of control, how could he explain what had happened without sounding completely mad?

“It’s been bad. I had a lot of flashbacks and went on autopilot for hours every day,” Bucky explained and thought back to what he had read about memory loss and feeling disconnected. “Dissociation, that’s what it is, right? Anyway, it’s worse than before. I can’t remember what I’ve been doing for the past few days, and I’m pretty sure I haven’t slept in days.”

Taking a deep breath, Bucky admitted the one thing the worried him the most, “One morning I was just sitting on my balcony with a gun, and I had no idea how I got there.”

Bucky studied Liv’s face anticipating her reaction. She looked serious as she slowly shredded her croissant.

“That must have been scary,” she said and looked up at Bucky with a slight nod to her head. “I’m sorry you had to experience something like that.”

Scary? Bucky thought back to the way his heart pounded when he tried to dig his brain and figure out whether he had used his gun on someone before realising he wasn’t missing any bullets.

From everything he had been going through in the last few days, his fucked brain scared him the most. Not only was he losing his memory, but he was also sloppy and irrational. He was a trained super-soldier, he was supposed to be better, sharper.

A long sigh from Liv as she leaned back in her chair and folded her arms pulled Bucky’s attention back to her. She shot a quick look at Bucky but turned her gaze back to her hands.

“Have you had any hallucinations or odd thoughts, like, as if everything that happens around you has something to do with you or anything weird like that?” she asked, raising her gaze to Bucky again.

Bucky shook his head.

“Any difficulties understanding speech or text?”

“Does it look like it? No.”

A slight pout on her face, Liv leaned forward and attacked her croissant again.

“Any paranoia? Do you feel like someone’s following you?”

A wave of sudden anger flared up in Bucky’s chest. He worked his jaw and scowled at the woman in front of him. There she was, asking questions and shredding her food as if nothing had happened. She had abandoned him and wasn’t even sorry.

“You think you can just disregard everything and carry on as if nothing happened?” Bucky spat. His flesh hand tightened into a fist when he spoke his chosen words: “You’re so fucking arrogant assuming you deserve any answers to your stupid fucking questions.”

He had Liv’s full attention now. A mangled croissant laid on her plate, forgotten as she stared at Bucky in shock.

“I’m not disregarding anything, I’m trying to figure out how to help you,” she said slowly, articulating her every word just a touch more. Bucky was dancing on her last nerve; he was sure.

“Oh, you want to help me now? Where were you yesterday? Or the days before?” Bucky realised his voice was getting louder, maybe too much so. He decided to push it anyway. “What kind of a friend does that?”

Liv let out a nervous laugh.

“Why are you attacking me like that?”

A slight tug on the corner of Bucky’s mouth made him rub his chin and wipe a thumb over his lower lip to hide the victorious smirk that threatened to form.

He knew he was playing a twisted game that would only end in a no-win situation, but he wanted it. It was what he was used to and what he deserved.

“Why are you laughing at me?”

“I’m not laughing at you, and you know that." 

Liv challenged Bucky, called him out on his bullshit.

On another day Bucky would have appreciated her spunk, but now it only made him suck his teeth and clench his jaw, irritated and aiming to come up with another prickly comment.

"Seriously, what happened?” Liv asked. “What’s making you feel so unsafe?”

Bucky scoffed.

“I’m a fugitive from HYDRA. It should be obvious.”

“So… You’re afraid they’ll find you?” Liv asked. “But no one knows you’re here in Romania.”

“They will find me if they want to. Any day they could just come and get me,” Bucky said.

Liv tilted her head, furrowing her brows. She didn’t agree with him. 

“But you’re a trained operative. You can disappear if you want to,” Liv said and shrugged.

Bucky wanted to roll his eyes at her naivety. She was utterly ignorant to the extent HYDRA worked around the world, how far its tentacles could reach.

“I mean, you’ve been gone for months, and not exactly hiding either. You’d think they would have found you already,” Liv mumbled.

Bucky leaned forward finding Liv’s gaze and staring hard to make sure she was listening.

“You wanna know what HYDRA did to me when I first ran away? It took them two weeks to search me out. Once they did, they whipped me raw, wiped me and stuffed me in an oil drum for hours.” Bucky clenched his jaw at the memory. “They’re capable of anything. I have my past to prove it.”

With a barely audible 'sorry’, Liv proceeded to rip her croissant into tiny pieces. Again, she had barely nibbled on it.

“About your past… I’ve thought about it a lot lately and, I don’t know, I hadn’t even realised-” Liv mumbled like she was thinking aloud. “-and I’m sorry because I should’ve known. I might have been pushing you to dig too deep too soon. It’s just that my head isn’t really…”

Liv shook her head and considered her words.

“Bucky, the things you’ve gone through,” she shifted in her seat forcing herself to look up at Bucky, “they’re bad, and-”

“Bad? Sheesh, isn’t that an exaggeration,” Bucky scoffed sarcastically rolling his eyes. He slumped back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, defiant like a child.

Liv ignored the attitude and continued where she was cut off. The tone in her voice and the look in her eyes softened when she spoke to deliver her message as gently as she could.

“-and sometimes, people with severe trauma might have to focus on stabilising instead of moving on to the trauma-focused part. It might take years before they can start safely processing traumatic memories. Some might never reach that point.”

Having readied himself to throw another thorny comment, Bucky paused and looked at Liv in shock.

He didn’t really have much hope for himself. So far, Liv’s talk about recovery, hope and future hadn’t convinced him. Now that Liv told him full recovery might not even be an option, it was like a punch to the gut.

“Are you saying this might never go away? That I have to deal with this shit for the rest of my life?” he asked and slowly stood up, leaning his fists on the table. “You’re a fucking shrink. You have to help me get rid of this.”

“That’s not how it works, Bucky. I’ve told you, and you know that-” Liv started.

She looked up at Bucky calmly as he towered over her, breathing hard and clenching his teeth.

“How can you say that?! Are you just gonna watch me suffer?!” He raised his voice.

“You’re getting worked up again-”

“Shut the fuck up!”

The table emitted a dangerous crack and sunk a few inches when Bucky’s right fist smashed on the wooden surface. Something in the back of his head begged him to stop. Even he was surprised to uncover this new side of him. 

Seeing the look on Liv’s face, how her eyes flew open and her breath seemed to catch when Bucky raised his voice, yanked his insides. Instant regret washed over him. He fell back to his chair, feeling his face twist. His throat ached as he did his best to hold back a cry of hurt and grief and shame.

A few moments passed in complete silence. 

Bucky stared at his hands, terrified of what’s to come. He had pushed Liv, provoked her to lose her temper. Now that he was about to get what he wanted, he felt guilty and scared.

Liv stood up. 

Eyes fixed on his palms, Bucky waited for her to lash at him. An outburst like this would have earned him a good beating in the past. 

Liv moved closer and touched Bucky’s shoulder. She reached her arms around him, but by instinct, Bucky flinched and pushed her away. He quickly realised her intention and apologised quietly, hanging his head in shame.

Liv shook her head, telling him not to worry. With a small sigh, she touched him again, first brushing the tips of her fingers on his left shoulder and then letting her hand slide down his left arm to his knee as she crouched in front of him and lifted her gaze to meet his. The compassion in her eyes was something he hadn’t seen in decades.

“I think all of this makes you feel helpless and hopeless,” Liv spoke softly, “and you’re scared because everything is different, you’re different.”

Bucky sniffed and looked up at the kitchen cabinets. Maybe if he blinked hard enough, the tears in his eyes would go away.

“Shouldn’t have blown up like that,” he mumbled with a tight jaw. “Sorry, you have to deal with this shit. It’s not your fault.”

Blinking didn’t help. Tears rolled down Bucky’s cheeks as he ground his teeth and pressed his lips into a tight line. He sucked in a quivering breath. His voice was thick when he spoke, “this just goes to show I’m an irreparable asshole that deserves nothing.”

It wasn’t a lie. He didn’t deserve anything. He was a traitor to his country, a murderer, worth absolutely nothing, so why would he deserve things like compassion, happiness or peace?

Liv’s fingers snaked around Bucky’s flesh ones. She squeezed them lightly sending a surge of comfort toward his heart. 

Why was she still there?

She had no sense of self-preservation, that was for sure.

“Or maybe this is just a natural human reaction to everything you’ve gone through,” Liv said.

Bucky scoffed and wiped his eyes. Liv was only saying things to make him feel better. He knew his behaviour had been unacceptable.

“Of course, having your feelings blow up like this is not okay, and this is one of the reasons it might not be wise to discuss your traumatic memories yet,” Liv explained. “You need to learn how to ground yourself so that you won’t go into overdrive. I can help you with that.”

A wet sob escaped Bucky’s lips, and he apologised again for his explosion promising it would never happen again.

Liv accepted his apology with a small smile, making him grab her hand with his flesh one.

Bucky sobbed hard as he looked at Liv, tears blurring his vision.

“Please, don’t leave me.”

Another gentle smile and a squeeze to his metal hand.

“I won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took forever to finish and I had a breakdown or two over it. Thank God I have a great friend who offers to read my shitty drafts and helps me out once in a while. I'm just gonna go to bed now, it's 4:30 am. I really hope you like this one!


End file.
